The Mind of the Beast
by doxthextimexwarp
Summary: They tell you to head into the belly of the beast, but what are you missing when you fail to enter their mind? A THREE-SHOT featuring Fitz, Bianca, and Owen.
1. Fitz

_This is my attempt at getting into the psyche of Fitz. The bully. The guy who destroys. The one everyone despises. This is my first time ever really getting into the mindset of a true bully, so I hope it does justice to the character. Please Read with an open mind. Though I have no intention of changing your opinion about Fitz, I do have the hope that maybe, just maybe, you'll see him in a different light._

**The Mind of the Beast**

It's Fitz, you goon.

It's not Mark, it's not Mr. Fitzgerald, and it's not Young Man.

It's just Fitz.

It has a certain…sharpness to it that's just like me. I'm like the pocket knife that I've had since I was eight and used when I got into my first gang fight deep in the back corner where the light barely reaches in my locker at school; people only see it creating one dreadful end. Death.

But if you put its brilliant blade up to the light, you see the different glimmers of it. You see how it's not just the tip that's sharp, but it's the grooved edge, too. The smooth side that catches your reflection and watches you intently. It's staring right back at you into your inner core.

Yeah, I got more sides than one.

The whole Fitz-will-kill-you thing is out of proportion. I haven't killed anyone. So why is it naturally assumed that I will? Because I'm in a gang? Hell no. If anything it's just a cover. They're just my safety. But, hey, I'm not about to change stereotypes. In fact, I embrace it. I am bully, hear me bash. Hear me hurt you. Hear. Me.

When I beat you up, Adam, do you hear me? When my large hands have grabbed your puny arms, pushed your thin and wimpish body against the cold wall with one sickening groan, and all you can feel is the warm breath I leave behind on your neck as I threaten in your girlish ear, do you hear me?

Because I'm telling you clearly, "I will fuck you up."

You listening?

You listen good.

My old man bashes me on occasion. Underneath all the layers of jacked-up clothing I five-finger-discounted, I have circles of blues, blacks, and sickish yellows. It's his way of talking to me. It's his way of saying, "It's because of you, you dumbass, that your mother is dead. It's because of you that our lives are shitty."

And as I hold you up against the wall, punk, do you hear me?

It's me telling you that I want you to be scared. I want you to fear me. Just like the way I fear my old man when he comes home late at night after hanging at the local bar swinging back one too many beers. Comes home with a slut at his side with barely any clothes on, fucks her in his room, and then leaves her only to come to mine and tell me once more with his fist:

I own you.

Just like I own you now, you loser.

Goth boy, my physical-abuse bag, Eli. When you approached me in your psychotically-fixed clothing of black standing there attempting to be as macho as me, were you ready for the worst pain of your life? When you attempt to verbally taunt me, did you expect to be met with the worst physical reaction that you will ever meet? And when you stand there seeking peace, do you expect to find it?

Take it as a lesson. There's no such thing as peace. Ask my Dad to stop hitting and he only hits harder. Ask him to love you and he only hates you more.

I kick you where it hurts because I can. Tell me, how much did you feel it?

You must have felt it's full angry force. I saw the way your body keeled over like some wimp and fall into the laps of none other than her.

Her.

She was the first one to genuinely smile at me since my Grandmother visited me for the last time when I was twelve. The way her pink lips parted showing her white teeth as beautiful as the pearls Bianca stole from a second-hand store for laughs last Saturday. Her curly and short hair catching the sun, giving her that golden halo of the angels that were painted on the church I went to when my Grandmother keeled over and laid to rest in her casket.

Her body was always covered fully (it was definitely a change from the sluts my Dad brought home who exposed themselves nearly to the point of nudity with every skimpy outfit they wore). And I liked it. She was my personal and silent temptress.

The girl who lured me into my hatred of schooling. The girl who impressed me so confoundedly with her brilliancy. I'll be smart for her. I'll do it by playing dumb for her. And I'll have her tutor me. Because any moment with this girl is one that juxtaposes all the other shitty ones I've had.

She'll lead me to my death because school just sucks ass.

She's my Siren standing next to the cliff and I'm about to jump off just for her if she'll only do one thing for me.

Go to the dance.

My Siren. Dance. With me.

Because all I really want to do is get the chance to be with her. Get the chance to spend at least one moment with this girl who has wound up myself into a greater morality than I've had in years. When was the last time I acknowledged the existence of the angels that so heavenly graced my life?

Alright, I'll be straight up. My new-found morality isn't much. It's like the amount of butter I place on my popcorn at the movies last weekend when I snuck into Gang Revolt 2 with Owen. I had only one small squirt of that chemical death on it until I ripped it away from the clutches of a fearful Wesley-nerd who had bought it for himself. But I claimed it as my own.

I really just want to violate her.

Take all the goodness in the world and show her that the world isn't fucking light. The world isn't a place for right and wrong; it's a place meant only for sinners.

Can you keep up with me, Siren? Can you walk among those who have already died inside?

I'll push you up against the wall and force one harsh kiss on your perfect lips and put my knife against your throat. You'll see the knife and know that I'm only meant for one thing:

Death.

And your emotions will die inside as you realize how I'm going to ravish all your goodness away from you. And when Adam...When Eli isn't there for you, you'll become just like me.

You'll die inside and you'll walk among me.

You'll hate and you'll hate well.

But that doesn't matter because I'll finally own the Siren.

I'll own you, Clare Edwards.

I'll leave a bruise on your arm as you struggle underneath my chest. I'll give you a gift that my father gives me often. I'll show my father that I am powerful regardless of how powerless he makes me feel. I'll show him just how manly I can be.

I am man. I am bully. I am Fitz.

Now fuck off.

**END.**

_I thank you deeply for reading. Please Review. If you really enjoyed this, check out some of my other work. Maybe you'll enjoy something else even more. _


	2. Bianca

_I've received some requests to further the Mind of the Beast past just Fitz because, let's be honest, the rest of his friends (Bianca and Owen) aren't really discussed much. So this is my further attempt to get into the mind of one of the other bullies, Bianca. And maybe, truly, you'll see that, like us all, she's misunderstood. Please give it a chance; I would truly appreciate it. _

_I just hope you understand why she feels what she feels and does what she does. _

_Because, really, isn't that one of the real essences of living?_

**The Mind of the Beast**

It's Bianca, you whore.

It's not Slut, it's not Ms. DeSousa, and it's not Young Lady.

It's just Bianca.

I see the way you're looking at me. You watch my hips sway left to right. You watch as I strut, moving left foot to front and then the right. Your eyes follow my hand as I wrap a red manicured finger around one of my black curls. I pout my pink glossed lips and you squirm. You fold your hands and stick them over your lap; is this you praying? Or just a cover-up? Because I already know what you're thinking. You just want to hook up with me.

They all do. I'm your weakness; I'm your triple pirouette- I'm what you want, but you don't have.

I'll take you to the boiler room and I'll show you what disgrace is. I'll show you what shame is. Drew, do you feel this? Do you feel me? I'll be your dirty little secret haunting your life. I'm going to ruin you because you let me ruin me.

You let me run my hands along your chest. You let me unbutton your jeans. You let me have you.

But you didn't think that maybe this was a test. That maybe, deep down, Bianca DeSousa was actually looking for a future charming. Someone to finally say no, we'll wait. Someone to finally say that I'm gorgeous and that what turns you on is my personality.

I'm not as different as most girls. I want someone to want me for more than sexual gratification and eye candy. I want someone who will take all of this baggage I keep hold inside my locker heart and tell me I'm still wonderful...

And I almost had someone look deeper, past my glamour surface.

But, no.

The Freak? You disgust me. Even more than I disgust myself.

Lie.

Because, Freak, I envy you. Deep down I effing envy you. Because you're one step closer to living than I am. Even though you're hated, and even though you may hate yourself sometimes, you have the courage to be you. You can be you.

You're willing to put yourself out their on the line and take all the criticisms and the hate because you know that deep down it's true:

_"Be who you are and say what you feel. Because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."_

But that isn't true for me. I remember when my mother read me that quote when I was younger. She read it off her computer screen, and then wrote it out in black Sharpie on the inside red flap of my favorite Dr. Seuss books. She was my favorite person in the world.

Still is.

She was a dancer, just like me. She was a cheerleader for her university. She was the best, I know she was. But then she met my dad, and my dad made the rules. He wanted her to be his. So like a cage, he captured her and stuck her in glass house. Well, a broken house. He got her pregnant with me (unknowingly to my mother). And my mother, who grew up with a single mom, wasn't going to let me end up like her.

So she married him. To her death.

I say that because six years later I came home from elementary school with a Dr. Seuss book in my hand to see my mother's unconscious body on the floor.

She was dead. Drug overdose.

Because of him.

You see, she hated him. Just like I hate him.

I hate him because he won't let me be me.

He won't let me be me in the sense that I am...

Gay.

He would never accept me. And I know that because he took one look at Adam and said, "All gays should die."

That's me.

I'm going to end up just like my mother; I'm going to die because of him. Because if it wasn't for dancing, I wouldn't have a release. And once I lose dancing, I lose everything.

I lose the one fragment of myself that's still truth.

That's still me.

Don't you give me that look. I know you can't believe it. Me, hoe-bag, a lezzer? Truth.

More truth? I'm really just effing angry.

Oh, dear Princess Alli, let down your fake extensions! Don't bat your fake eyelashes at me, it just turns me on more. I like your fiery personality, the way you glide your hips and saunter in your heels. You're sex, just like me. I just want to take you to the boiler room.

I would take you and I would kiss you. So hard that you would know that I care deeply about you.

I wouldn't push you for sex, though, like the guys push me for. I would want us to wait; I would want our relationship to grow. I would want to be your everything, just like I know you could be mine.

I'll be the half to you.

You be the half to me.

I'll be whole, for once.

I'll brush your cheek and you'll give me that smile that you give only to Drew. But, my vixen, I know I could show you more.

But damn, girl.

That starts to get difficult when all we do is fight. It's just all a facade for me. I promise. I'm afraid that, regardless of my darkest secret of wanting to have you as mine, that if I didn't bother you to death, we would never talk at all.

And that would be my death.

Until then, this is all I can think to do. This...this show I put on for you.

I am woman. I am bully. I am Bianca.

Now move, bitch.

**END.**

_Please Review! All thoughts are welcomed with an open mind. This was just my own personal hypothesis to the actions of Bianca, perhaps you have your own ideas?_

_With much apprecation, I thank you for reading. I hope you find some more of my work just as thoughtful._


	3. Owen

_The final confession._

**The Mind of the Beast.**

It's Owen, you fag.

It's not Son of a Bitch, it's not Mr. Milligan, and it's not Young Man.

I like to feel things. I like the feel I get when my fist collides with the side of your face. I like the feel of pain between my fingers and power in my actions as I throw you through the glass windows and watch you collide in sweet agony. Scream, little girl. Scream, boy, as I take away whatever manly dignity you once felt you had. With every punch I give, with every forceful collision I manifest, do you take notice?

Do you see me?

Do you really see me?

My father's in the military.

Surprised?

I sure as hell wouldn't be.

Have you seen the shit I've pulled?

He commands me to "man up."

So I put on my football jersey and pound against the grass. I run and jump and push and tackle. I feel my breath start to weaken and my legs ache with strain. My body collides and I can feel a slow blue-black burn.

But I just hit back harder.

He commands me to "control your women."

So I grab the nearest lady and fool her with money and pride in givings. I can make you my Bitch. I will own you.

And then I will take you and run away because he-

He commands that I "survive."

And surviving at home is something I can't do, never can do. And I just want to leave this place and find my own little hideaway and take you there and be with you-

But he'll find me. Us. Our little slice of heaven sliced away from reality and replaced with hell.

My hell.

My freaking hell.

How fucked up would it be if I told you he was proud of me?

He is god-awful proud of me for doing what I do.

He tells me I'm the only one with my head screwed on straight.

He doesn't know that I feel that a few screws are loose.

The only time my mind is quiet is when I'm at the Ravine, smoking a doobie in my right hand with a beer in my left. It's past midnight, Fitz as already headed out to scope out the Edwards' residence to make sure Clare hasn't runaway yet and that she hasn't hurt herself with all the screaming and yelling. He just cares for her, he comes from experience. And I approve. Because he's looking after his woman.

Future woman.

And Bianca has headed out to blow off some steam in one of the far off corners of the Ravine to wrestle with a few girls. Their own private fight club. And I approve. Because she's toughening up for some chick.

And as I sit there, dark air around me with a chilling sting, I think about what my life has become.

Shit.

I don't have a reason for living.

Fitz has Clare.

Bianca has her girls. A girl.

My mother has my father.

My father has the military.

And I have nothing.

Zilch.

Completely nothing.

I've lost the will to fight. There is just too much of a repeat. Owen fight boy, boy go to ground hurt. Hurt in Owen hands feel delightful. Boy tattle tale. Owen caught and suspended. Dad awfully proud. Dad awfully proud.

There's no livelihood in making Dad proud anymore.

Because it just never seems to change the situation that I'm so desperately attempting to miraculously transform through prayer to an unknown God. Because regardless of how proud Dad is, he never stays home.

He'd never retire for longer than a week to stay home and be Dad.

He's only home twice this year.

And he calls a few times in between.

What's sick is that regardless of his parental teachings, I still want him around.

I hate myself for wanting him around more.

There's no life in women. After Drew came in and Alli was crying and I just got mad and then I woke up. Something clicked.

I'm just looking for someone to understand me. To want me.

Like, really fucking seriously want me.

I'm so fucking sick of being alone. I'm so fucking sick of having everyone leave me.

Can I be philosophical here? Or, let me be blunt. All of this loss of life...I think it's my consequence.

It's the consequence I get for listening and obeying my father. It's the consequence I get for never trusting myself and having the confidence to stick up to him.

I know that now. I'm just a pawn in an old man's game.

If I could take it all back, I would.

I'd apologize to Adam and tell him he's a bigger man than I could ever be.

I'd apologize to Alli and tell her she's a more in-control woman than any of the other women I have ever been with.

I'd apologize to Riley and tell him that he's a real warrior survivor and always will be.

I'd apologize to Fitz and tell him that I should have given him a place to stay that first and only night he showed up at my door, swollen lip and blackeye, looking for a harbor.

I'd apologize to Bianca and tell him that she's going to find the right one on her own without my misguided help.

And in the end I'd apologize to you, because you I have mistreated the most. I've been nothing but hurtful to you, and now as I seek even the slightest redemption, I know I don't deserve it. But hand to God in hope, hand out to you in begging-

I'm begging you, please don't believe in my charade. Don't fall trapped in my actions and hate.

It's just a feigning replication of my father's ideals.

I'm just a machine to his warring desires.

I'm waiting for this man to end. I'm waiting for this bully to fall defeated. I'm waiting for this fucking Owen that I am to finally die.

Please don't leave me.

**_END._**

_That concludes The Mind of the Beast. Please leave a Review. I would love to read what you think. _


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